


Faded Memories!

by millygal



Category: Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Introspection, Time Lord Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 12:59:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10697511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: Boot laces, why in god's name does he have a whole hanger's worth of...





	Faded Memories!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Selenic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selenic/gifts).



> Thank you as always to my patient and lovely beta wings128 :)
> 
> selenic76 and I were exchanging prompts to try and kick start the Muse process, turns out one of the prompts I left her, I really wanted to write and she knew it wasn't going to end up being a ficlet, so gave me full permission to 'have at it' ;)
> 
> Original prompt! Doctor Who: The Tenth Doctor keeps trinkets and keepsakes from all his companions.
> 
> So, this is me, stealing back my own prompt, lol!

What happened to the alien who wanted adventure, mystery, maybe a little danger? A care free soul intended for more than dotting the i's and crossing the t's. When did he become _that_ guy; the one at the bar who tells war stories involving people no one knows and couldn't care less about?

His feet stumble forward despite his brain's attempts to block out their intended path. The scrape of rubber against metal sets an itch in the centre of his mind he can't scratch no matter how much he vibrates the neurons around it.

The scent of a millennia's worth of detritus all heaped in one place slams into him like a speeding train! Knocking the wind from his superior lungs, making his eyes water with the effort not to crumple against the base of a coat rack that's bowing under the weight of a hundred different jackets all belonging to people either long dead or at least long gone.

Running his lithe fingers through rows and rows of discarded pieces of mismatched jewellery, tarnished by time and a lack of natural air flow, the Doctor inhales deeply, closes his eyes and conjures up the faces of the men and women who've left marks in his hearts and mess on his floors.

It wasn't until Rose _left_ that he realised he'd been building a football stadium sized shoe box full of ticket stubs and memories he sometimes wishes he could wipe clean.

Despite his age and his many battle scars, these are the things that cause him the most pain. Yet, here he stands once again staring into several life time's worth of knick-knacks and trinkets that mean absolutely nothing to anyone else in any other universe.

If he were to die, really die, and some poor soul had to sort through the scraps of his life, they'd think he'd lost his mind.

The plus of living in a TARDIS - cupboard space!

The down side - needing a map and a compass just to find a bathroom!

Rose's denim mini skirt; hem fraying and worn, blood spots fading into the material, odour of wet dog still clinging to the fabric. Timorous wee beasty she was.

Resting his chin against his chest, he feels a small smile spread reluctantly across his thin lips, cracking the still exterior and allowing a little light and joy in under the cloud.

Sighing deeply, moving away from the lightly wafting aroma of Rose's favourite perfume still hanging in the air despite the filtration systems, the Doctor reaches out and pulls down a tiny snow globe.

Turning it over and over in his hands, he can hear Leela's voice ringing in his mind;

_"It's purpose?"_  
"No purpose Leela, just decoration."  
"It seems a little like wasted resources to me."  
"Then don't buy it."  
"But it's pretty!" 

Sniggering to himself, remembering how she'd smoothed her fingers across the glass as she'd stuck it in the centre of the console, he replaces it within the dust ring on the shelf and moves on.

Boot laces, why in god's name does he have a whole hanger's worth of...Oh, that's right, Peri had an obsession with mismatched boot laces. He never did quite understand why she kept a draw full of them in her room. Humans, too strange for words!

The artificial light catches the edge of something hanging in the corner and he's grasping at it before he understands why. Maybe he's got a touch of magpie DNA in there somewhere because _shiny_!

Yanking the plastic ear buds from their perch, he tugs until Grace's stethoscope comes away in his hands and he feels the ghost of a sensation; soft warmth, sweetness, the press of timid lips, the tickle of her hair against his nose as tries to decide whether he should use tongue or remain a gentleman.

She'd been the first of only a few human's to create a feeling of want in him he never quite managed to rid himself of after their little encounter.

He was doomed from the moment he woke up on that damned autopsy table!

Creeping along the isles he finds himself surrounded by enough footwear to keep a third world country in shoes and boots for a hundred years.

Ace had extremely eclectic taste in anything she put on her feet, perhaps he could sell them, make himself a small fortune!

No, everything in this room will stay here until the crystals stop cycling. Shame though, he could've been the first Time Lord to open his own vintage shoe shop!

Circling back around, striding passed hair brushes and half empty shampoo bottles, he begins to question his own sanity whilst grinning about the hair removal cream prank of '06.

Adam had it coming, sneaky little toad!

Wandering towards the door, knowing there's an adventure out there somewhere just waiting to be had, he pats the wall and smiles sadly to himself.

Perhaps it's not such a bad thing, keeping his memories all in one room. At least he can visit whenever he likes, lock the door when he doesn't.

Hearing the sucking whoosh of the door as it closes behind him, he wonders who'll be the next person to add to his magical library of complete and utter junk.

Whoever they are, he really hopes they don't come with a collection of commemorative plates, he draws the line at dusting!


End file.
